


all that glitters is not gold

by rinsled05



Series: Defying Gravity [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Durmstrang, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mahoutokoro (Harry Potter), Mild Smut, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinsled05/pseuds/rinsled05
Summary: Viktor finds him in Minako's dance studio.It's an easy search: in the evenings leading to a national Quidditch match, no matter how grueling the day's training, no matter how exhausting – Yuuri dances.(Related to my Hogwarts/HP AU,Entwining Fates)





	all that glitters is not gold

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read my fic, [Entwining Fates](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8776813), then I really hope you'll enjoy this piece, because it's... well, it's the True Ending. It's how I envision Entwining Fates finally wrapping up its story. I've chosen to post it outside of the drabble collection for this reason.
> 
> If you're coming in new, then the emotional beats may not hit quite as hard, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless! Some cliff notes of the original fic that might be helpful to know:
> 
> Yuuri is a muggle-born and a former ballet dancer. He transferred from Mahoutokoro to Hogwarts in his fifth year for tragic reasons that involve Quidditch. His Mahoutokoro robes are currently silver in color, and I've extended the canon of color changes such that they will continue to evolve even after students have left/graduated.
> 
> Viktor is half-Veela and a Seeker for the Siberian Sirins, a non-canon Russian national Quidditch team. He also has a tragic past with Quidditch that involves his deceased Veela mother.

Viktor finds him in Minako's dance studio.

It's an easy search: in the evenings leading to a national Quidditch match, no matter how grueling the day's training, no matter how exhausting, Yuuri dances.

Viktor knows it's a habit born out of anxiety, a way to soothe himself before the night is over. Not wanting to interrupt Yuuri's solo performance, he closes the door carefully, silently, before settling against the wall, arms folding across his chest.

Ten years ago, this was how they met.

On an exchange program, in Hogwart's Room of Requirements, he found a boy dancing beneath a silver crane, limbs reaching and stretching, bending and curving.

He never dreamed it would be the same raven-haired beauty he fell desperately in love with on Mahoutokoro's open courtyard. ' _The Dance of the Crane_ " it was called, and indeed, the boy flew with the grace of a crane, his exquisite aerial dances drawing a whirlwind of silver and blue in the cloudless sky.

And while the very same boy – no, _man_ – now dances with just as much grace and elegance as his younger days, Viktor sees a difference.

His hair is longer, so much longer, and oh, how radiant Yuuri looks as he twirls, dark strands caressing cheeks and nose and silky eyelashes. But more importantly, there's confidence now, a quiet sense of certainty in his spins and arches.

Even his features are soft and relaxed, no longer twisted with a pain that he once buried deep inside.

Sliding to the floor in a front split, Yuuri ends his dance, one arm rising into the air, bending his back far enough for the top of his head to touch the wood tiles – a perfectly arched bow.

On his outstretched hand, gold glints under the bright studio lights.

Smiling, Viktor claps his hands together, and Yuuri straightens, surprise flitting across his face.

"Bravo, bravo," he says, recalling his words on that fateful night. "That was wonderful."

Rising to his feet, Yuuri laughs, warm and open and _free_. "How'd you know where to find me?"

"I always know where to find you," says Viktor easily.

There's a pause. Yuuri's eyes rove up and down Viktor's figure, before he lets out a gasp, hands flying to his cheeks. "Your speech! Your speech is tonight!"

Self-consciously, Viktor runs a hand down the thick fabric, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. He hasn't worn his Durmstrang uniform for years, but the Headmaster was persistent, the elderly warlock rattling on and on about how it would greatly boost students' morale to see their International Quidditch idol dressed in the same formal wear.

"It's just a graduation speech," he says, shrugging. "You really don't have to come."

"But I'd like to," Yuuri huffs. "I'll be quick, I promise."

He turns to bend for his towel.

Viktor lets his eyes slip to the fine curves of Yuuri's ass, prominent under black dance tights, before he forms a mental image of the towel and idly flicks his wrist.

Yuuri blinks as the towel soars out of his hand and into Viktor's.

"Let me," says Viktor.

"Show off," Yuuri says, bemused, even as he traverses the dance floor to Viktor's side.

"You'll get the hang of wandless spells soon," Viktor assures, tugging Yuuri closer.

He takes his time, dabbing the towel on Yuuri's cheeks and forehead, tenderly tracing the line of his jaw, catching every bead of sweat with each stroke. And when Yuuri gazes at him with those beautiful brown eyes, he's filled with such a sudden _need_ that his heart beats fast and his hand starts to shake.

It scares him how much he needs Yuuri: how much he wants to hold his lover and never let go; how much he fears losing him, the way he lost his mother.

The Tengus' last Quidditch match tore him apart.

He still hears the sickening crunch of the Bludger in his nightmares; sees Yuuri's limp form plummeting from the sky.

Healing magic and potions had his lover recovering within weeks – "It's just a broken arm, Viten'ka," Yuuri says, kissing away his tears – but something about that day resurfaced an old feeling in him; the feeling he had each time he faced his mother's disapproval, pulled taut and tight as a string about to snap.

So in the spur of the moment, he proposed.

He had been thinking about it, of course, organized a surprise event and everything, but the smell of bleach, the white sheets, and Yuuri's pale, pale face drove him to secure Yuuri in his life the only way he knew how.

But he proposed in a _hospital_ , and his little star deserves so much better.

"Yuuri," he murmurs, pausing in his ministrations. " _Moya zvezdochka_ , I – "

"I know," Yuuri whispers, cupping his cheek, gold band cold against his skin.

And then he kisses Viktor, soft and loving and so forgiving.

There is a difference indeed.

Ten years ago, 16-year-old Yuuri turned scarlet red just from holding hands.

Now, well: now the same man tips his head and deepens the kiss _he_ initiated, letting out a noise that's low and so very filthy.

"I'm very much enjoying this new turn of events, but…" Viktor pants, hands tangling in dark locks, "…let's not forget about my big speech."

"Are you actually being responsible?" Yuuri teases, mouthing the words across his jaw.

"Mmhm~" Viktor lifts Yuuri's chin and drops kisses on his lips, his cheeks. "Is that so surprising?"

Yuuri grins, and repeats, "I'll be quick, I promise."

Then he drops to his knees, and Viktor's blood shoots straight to his dick.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri isn't kidding about being quick: he makes fast work of the Durmstrang belt, and in seconds, Viktor's pants and underwear are pooling just below his knees, caught by his heavy boots.

Viktor exhales shakily as Yuuri smooths hands up his thighs, squeezes his ass; gasps as fingers and tongue dance against sensitive skin.

"Yuuri," he swallows his tongue, when Yuuri wraps a hand round his cock and gives a firm stroke, _once_ , up and down. " _Please_."

"Already?" Yuuri giggles, holding him steady at the base, thumb rubbing so _teasing_ and evil and driving all coherence from his brain.

"Yes," he says, unable to say anything more.

He lets out a choked scream when Yuuri, obligingly, swallows him whole.

His lover doesn't like giving head; it's a sentiment he once declared loud and clear, right after his first messy attempt.

But _god_ , does he give good head.

Breathing hard, Viktor curls his hands into Yuuri's hair and pulls at the elastic band, watching dark hair spill over narrow shoulders. He's so exquisite, so beautifully divine.

And when Yuuri openly moans around his dick, the vibrations sending sparks up his spine, he swears loosely in Russian, eyes fluttering shut.

It's getting harder to fight the urge to roll his hips; snap in deeper, harder. Lose himself in Yuuri's wet heat.

"Viten'ka," Yuuri sighs then, full of love and affection, and just like that, he's _lost_ , coming so hard and sudden that he feels his heart explode behind his eyelids.

When he returns, Yuuri is fastening his belt, peering up at him through long eyelashes.

"Good?" Yuuri asks shyly.

"Amazing," Viktor rasps.

Yuuri nods, looking pleased, and then he's all business. "Okay, well, I'd better change so we can maybe Apparate _right now_ before you miss the entire graduation cere— _mmh_!"

Viktor kisses him to swallow the rest of his words, rocking shamelessly against the hard bulge straining against black tights.

" _Ah_ ," Yuuri gasps. "Your– your speech…"

"It can wait," Viktor breathes.

 

* * *

 

Durmstrang is nothing like Hogwarts or Mahoutokoro.

The stone structure is cold and dark, almost akin to the dungeons where Hogwarts holds its potion classes, or the deepest regions of Mahoutokoro's forest, where Japan's magical creatures thrive.

Hastening down the carpeted stairs of the large assembly hall – red, so much _red_ – Yuuri quickly locates his seat in the front row, slipping into the empty chair. He curls into the seat and tucks the ends of his navy-blue robes between his knees, averting his gaze from the hard stares around him.

He can't blame them; they arrived at Durmstrang Institute a full hour after Viktor's scheduled time.

It never fails to amaze him how little his lover cares about such matters.

("Now, now," says Viktor brightly in the face of the Headmaster's fury, "It wouldn't do for the students' morale to see their Headmaster yelling at their idol, would it?")

Even now, striding to the podium on stage, the Russian is unfazed by the low murmurings of the professors in the front row. Yuuri wonders if he should crawl under the seats to join the students, who appear far more receptive to Viktor's presence.

At the podium, Viktor presses two fingers lightly against his neck, before spreading his arms wide.

"My dear students," he says – and his voice echoes above a wave of _whoa_ ; _did you see that_ ; _wandless!_ – "I deeply apologize for my tardiness. I hope you do not see this as my disinterest in speaking to you on your most important day, but merely my weakness when it comes to resisting my lovely fiancé."

A ripple of laughter. He winks at Yuuri, who slaps his palms to his face and sinks deeper into the seat.

On second thought, this may have been a really bad idea.

 

* * *

 

Viktor's prepared speech is, thankfully, not quite as embarrassing as Yuuri anticipates.

He talks about failure. He talks about the reality of life, of disappointing family and friends, of the sheer frustration of falling short of expectations. He speaks of the injuries he attained to achieve his status as a national Seeker, the many rejections the Siberian Sirins had to face before they were finally recognized as a national team. He emphasizes the importance of accepting failure and learning from mistakes.

And then, to Yuuri's surprise, he turns to the topic of dark magic.

"As Durmstrang students, we are trained in the art of dark magic. Unlike the rest of Europe, our professors have taught us the skill to manipulate and control the Dark Arts, not to fear it. You will find, in your venture beyond our honored school, that many will question this aspect of your education. They will question your morals, ask why you would tolerate such unfortunate magic."

"And I would know," he flashes a grin in Yuuri's direction, "I'm engaged to a Hogwarts alum."

Laughter again, while Yuuri gives him a smile in return.

"Yet, their questions are not without reason," Viktor continues. "Dark magic has been besmirched by the Dark Wizards who use it for their nefarious purposes. Morgan le Fay. Gellert Grindelwald. Voldemort. So what differs us from these wizards? What can make us immune to the siren call of evil, despite our practice of the Dark Arts?"

Yuuri sits up straighter in his seat as Viktor pauses, casting a sweeping glance at his enraptured audience.

"Love," he says, and Yuuri's heart swells.

"Love for your sister, your father, your grandmother. Love for your friends, your partner, your spouse. Love for strangers, and even the person sitting next to you today. Love is something Dark Wizards fail to understand, something they desperately lack. We may not know the true power of love, but we know its wonders."

Viktor exhales slowly. " _I_ know its wonders," he appends. "I have never known love – true love. My childhood was a lonely one, the details of which I shall not disclose, lest we have a certain tabloid reporter in our midst."

He raises his voice over the light chuckles. "But then I met Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki: my sun, my moon, and my stars. Yuuri Katsuki is my everything. He taught me to love unconditionally; to find perfections in our imperfections. He taught me true love. And suddenly, the world became bigger, brighter. Suddenly, the world had _meaning_."

"True love heals. True love _protects._ And no amount of dark magic will ever change that."

Yuuri doesn't hear the rest of Viktor's speech. His eyes burn and his chest trembles, shaking with each hard inhale. No, no, no, he chants to himself. He's not supposed to cry – not in front of Viktor's juniors and professors. Not in the middle of Viktor's alma mater.

Seven years.

It took him seven years to return to the Quidditch pitch; another three to finally feel at home on his broomstick.

And for seven years, Viktor waited. Encouraged and nudged, but never pushed.

Viktor saw something in him that he failed to see in himself, ever since that fateful meeting in Mahoutokoro – a meeting that Yuuri doesn't remember. It was only in recognizing Viktor's love that, slowly, gradually, he began to love himself.

And it scares Yuuri how much he needs Viktor: how much he wants to hold Viktor and never let go; how much he fears losing him.

He dreads the day Viktor grows fed up of him and leaves.

So when Viktor proposed in the hospital, all hiccups and stutters, eyes swollen from tears, Yuuri said yes. Because he finally realized, blinking hazily as Viktor fumbles for his hand on the Quidditch pitch, begging him to _please don't leave me; please_ , that Viktor needs him too.

(He proposed to Viktor after he was discharged; he had hidden the gold band in his coat pocket for weeks.)

_True love heals._

Shuddering, Yuuri drops his head in his hands, trying hard to stifle the sniffles.

Yuri's right; he _is_ a wimpy crybaby.

"Yuuri?"

It's Viktor, his voice tinged with worry.

Surely, he didn't come off stage before the end of his speech?

Yuuri raises his head, pawing furiously at his eyes. "I– I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," he hiccups, "Please, don't mind me– "

"Oh my love," Viktor murmurs. "I could never do that."

He pulls Yuuri into his arms, kisses his cheeks and nose. "I'm here, _moya zvezdochka_. I'm always here."

The dam breaks, and Yuuri lets go.

 

* * *

 

"I can't believe I cried till the end of your speech."

Viktor turns to Yuuri, who clambers onto their bed and presses sheepishly into his bare chest. "I think it's sweet that my speech touched you so," he says, dropping a hand to Yuuri's thigh.

Yuuri sighs, taking his hand to lace their fingers, gold bands clinking together.

"Does this mean you'll try some dark magic now?"

"No," says Yuuri, ignoring Viktor's pout. "But it does mean I'm… slightly more agreeable to you practicing the Dark Arts."

"Only slightly?" Viktor hums and brings their joined hands to his lips, brushing them lightly against Yuuri's knuckles. "You do realize we blew each other in Minako's studio today?"

"Oh god." Yuuri's chin falls to his chest. "Don't remind me."

"You started it," Viktor chuckles.

"I know," Yuuri groans. "I don't know what came over me then, either. Must be something about that uniform."

"Or my irresistible Veela charm?"

Yuuri shoots him a glare. "You didn't."

"As much as I like to take the credit, today was all you, my sexy little star."

"Aahh, don't, that makes me sound like some sort of porn star!"

"Now there's an idea," Viktor's face lights up.

Yuuri flails. "What, _no_ , that's – "

A shrill tone starts to ring, and he practically leaps across the bed to grapple for something on the bedside table.

"Hello," he says breathlessly into the rectangular device.

What was it Yuuri called that thing? A 'sell-phone'?

Viktor smiles as Yuuri furrows his eyebrows and responds in his native language, nodding in time to some invisible voice. He finds it adorable how Yuuri speaks to that muggle object the same way he speaks to others in person: falling into a polite stance, head dipping in tiny bows.

Soon, he ends the conversation with a 'Thanks, Yuu-chan' - the extent of Viktor's Japanese vocabulary, really - and then his hand falls, the sell-phone flipping onto the bed. For a moment, he doesn't speak – just flops onto his back and fixes his stare on some point on the ceiling.

Viktor reaches for him. "What's wrong?" he asks softly.

Slowly, Yuuri rolls to face him, brown eyes open wide. "My school robes…"

"They've turned gold."

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rinsled05/works) or come squeal with me on tumblr @ [dreaming-fireflies](http://dreaming-fireflies.tumblr.com/).


End file.
